A New World
by JingleBells2961
Summary: The dreams have been occurring more frequently and at this point I'm desperate for an end. I can't go on much longer. Myka, Helena, and Claudia. Focusing mostly on Bering and Wells but Claudia plays an integral part. AU. Superpowers.
1. Prologue

I hear a voice.

_Help…_

It's a woman.

_Help! Help me please!_

She's trapped.

_Lord help me!_

I can't move.

_Please…please!_

It's warm.

_The fire, the fire!_

She's screaming.

_Anybody…_

And crying.

_Help!_

Her voice grows weaker.

_I need…help_

She's struggling.

_Help…help my…_

The heat's consuming me too.

_My…_

Everything gets darker.

_Help…my_

Until it all fades to black.

_My baby_


	2. Dreams and Appearances

**So I came up with this idea a while ago and after searching for a long time I think Warehouse 13 is perfect for this idea. This is a short chapter which I intended to be longer but I believed that this chapter needed to stand on its own. I hope you enjoy.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters or the show Warehouse 13 no matter how many times I wish I did.**

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><p>I wake up in a cold sweat. Tears are rushing down my face and I quickly wipe them off with the back of my hand. I glance at the nightstand to my left and read the time. 5:41.<p>

I've woken up like this before. The voice in my dreams, no nightmares, screaming, begging, pleading for help that I cannot give.

I never see the face of the voice that cries for help but I know it's a woman. She's lying on the floor seemingly lifeless in a room I assume to be the living room. Her face is down for she is to weak to lift her head up. Despite being immobile she screams and screams like her life depends on it, sadly it does.

Fire surrounds her consuming everything in its path. I can't look away nor can I move my legs to help her. I'm forced to watch as she slowly withers away.

Sometimes I watch her from different angles. Her features forever embedded in my mind. Chestnut hair. Ivory skin.

I'm never allowed to see her face, a fact that used to drive me mad. It drove me so insane that my peers, teachers, neighbors and family deemed me an outcast. I've never lived anywhere for too long, due to the fact that I'm in the foster system. They move me around so much that I've never lived in a place longer than three months.

I'm currently living in Colorado with a mother and father and their daughter Tracy. They own a bookstore called Bering and Sons, a name which never ceases to annoy me on the account that the Bering family consists of mostly women.

The family is nice. Tracy being a year older than me was very welcoming the first few days before I made it clear that we would never be friends. It was for her own good, she looked innocent and I had a history of getting bullied at schools.

I check the clock again. 6:17. I've been lost in my thoughts for a while. I'm sweating despite the fact that it's winter and I'm clad in only a tank top and underwear.

I roll myself out of bed and gasp at the stinging on my thighs. I look down to confirm what I already know is there. Burn marks. Five circles on each thigh the perfect size of my finger pads.

I shake my head and push the thoughts out of my mind as I rush to my bag. I never allow myself to unpack because I know I won't be staying long. I rummage around until I find a pair of loose cotton shorts, which I immediately put on.

I calm down once more now that the tops of my thighs are covered. It isn't the first I've woken up with burn marks on my body and I expect it won't be the last. The dreams started years ago a few months after I turned seven.

I remember screaming and screaming so loudly that the current family I lived with rushed to my room to figure out what was going on. They sent me away the next day.

I didn't have the next dream for a long time. Such an extended period of time that I almost convinced myself that it never happened. The second time I had the nightmare the neighbors called the police. The whole night was filled with questions about my well being. Once the cops confirmed that I had not been mistreated they left and I was gone by morning.

The cycle continued over the years with dreams coming more and more frequently. Now, they come almost every night, the dark shades under my eyes evidence of many restless nights.

I grab my sweatshirt at the foot of my bed and pull it on. I slip on my running shoes and hastily tie them; I intend to jog around the neighborhood.

I walk towards my bedroom door but try as I might, I can't walk past the mirror that hangs on the wall. I gasp at what I see. My cheeks are sunken and hollow, the result of malnutrition. My first week in the Bering household proved difficult as I fought off the requests that I eat something. I haven't had an appetite in so long.

My eyes are dull and lifeless. I'm a ghost of what I used to be. My NYU sweatshirt is baggy even though I recall it fitting perfectly a couple months ago. I grab the hem of my sweatshirt and pull it up to my underarms, immediately I see how prominent my ribs are.

A flash of white-hot anger courses through me and I yank down my sweatshirt. I'm disgusted with myself, at what I've become.

I look at myself once more and fight back the tears that begin to well in my eyes. I will not cry. I refuse to wallow in my self-pity.

I frown deeply as I whisper bitter words into the dark room.

"Happy sixteenth birthday Myka."


End file.
